Hidden
by Mistress DragonFlame
Summary: Looking for the records of his latest customer, Tamaki discovers some startling information in Kyouya’s black book. [No Pairing]


**Title** – Hidden  
**Rating** – PG  
**Source** – Manga  
**Pairings** – Hinted Haruhi/Host Club  
**Summary** – Looking for the records of his latest customer, Tamaki discovers some startling information in Kyouya's black book.  
**Author **– Mistress DragonFlame  
**Beta** – N/A  
**Notes** – There is actually no really 'pairing' of this story—it's just one-sided hinted liking (meaning, there is no hint as to who Haruhi likes), no worse then the original. Also, like the original, there is no actually stated amount of time. After all, they've had, what, three springs (?) and Hani and Mori are still in their third, and final, year.

Please enjoy my first Ouran fic. It was just written up quickly for 7-7-7. 'Cuse me, I have to go gamble now.

**XXXXX**

Tamaki, in a fit of a rare somber mood, sat quietly, fingers crossed before his mouth as his elbows rested on the plush arms of the chair that could feed a small section of Africa for a year. His eyes did not move from one spot, focused on the black book that lay open before him on the table, though he wasn't really looking at it anymore. He already saw all he needed to see.

It started out innocently enough, even though he knew 'Mom' would kill him if he found out 'Dad' had peaked into his (sacred) black notebook. A customer of Tamaki's requested a certain cosplay of a favorite anime of hers, but the idea had been dismissed by a three to four vote. However, if she had been a long enough patron, she held a sway of two votes. So that was what brought him to look within the notebook located in a small office connected to Music Room Three that held a few of their old costumes, making the room somewhat cramped (compared to what any of them but Haruhi were use to, anyway). Kyouya was off over seeing the latest costume creations and was thus distracted for the time being.

The half French man knew he had been gone too long, and was probably causing Kyouya to become suspicious. But he had more worrisome thoughts at the moment.

You see, as he was flipping through the pages to find the records of his client, he stumbled upon Haruhi's debt record. He amused himself by reliving each and every addition and reduction in the bill, indiscriminately laughing and pouting at different parts as they caused a memory to surface. But, at about half way down the debt list, he started to frown. It was a small frown, but it grew as he read on. However, by the time he finished with the list, his face was uncharacteristically blank. He closed the book calmly, setting it down into its current location as he took up his current pose—crossed fingers, ankle hooked over a knee, foot twitching.

"Tell me," He said as he heard the door slide open, though he didn't shift his gaze. He knew who it was, who it had to be. "Why was I not informed, as club president, at least?"

Kyouya smiled his soft smile as he walked over, but it did anything but reassure Tamaki. Kyouya smiling that smile meant nothing but lies and deceit, fooling only those unwise to his ways. "And what would you have done, if you knew?" He paused, before chuckling slightly and amending, "Oh, what _are_ you going to do now that you know?"

But Tamaki did not respond to the question. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "How long... has she...?"

"Been clear of her debt?" Kyouya raised his eyebrows slightly as he finished Tamaki's sentence. He smirked at the thin lipped glare he received. He picked up his book and flipped through it, landing on an unknown page and started to make a few indiscernible scratchings with his pencil. "Oh... lets see... Since the Greek Cosplay, I believe. Her laurels sold for three times their purchased price. I think that was mainly because they fell into her lap at one point. She's actually _earning_ money now, and I'm putting it aside in a bank account to give to her upon our graduation, or if she leaves the Club."

Tamaki was quite for a moment. "Does... anyone else...?"

"Hm," Kyouya didn't look up as he flipped a page, and made another note. "I'm certain Hani—thus Mori—know, because Hani likes Haruhi enough to have kept exact track of her debt at any and every given point. I'm pretty sure the twins also know, or at least will soon enough, as they've recently started to purchase her items online with more then necessary amounts (under a screen name, of course). Possibly this is because they don't like any member of 'us' being indebt to 'them', but despite their actions, they've not told her what they have been doing, so I believe they won't bring it up."

Another silent moment passed before the light colored brunet spoke again. "Why...? Why hasn't anyone _told_ her?"

"We all have our different exact reasons," He said evasively, "But one thing we all have in common is that we believe if she knew, she would stop coming to the club."

"B-but—!" Tamaki predictably sprang up, protesting loudly and passionately. "Haruhi likes us! We're her friends! She wouldn't... she'd never... she..." But, also predictably, the argument failed before it began, and he slowly sat back down under the pointed look his friend was giving him.

"We are her friends, yes, but—as she states time and time again—her first priority is her studies. The Host club takes a good amount of time away from those. Also, as we all know well, she doesn't like it when we dress her up into extravagant costumes, or when we make her participate in our events. She likes things simple, and for her, school means studies and little else."

"But..." Tamaki continued to protest, though his voice was very quiet, almost a whisper. "Surely she wouldn't just... _abandon_ us completely like that..."

"No, not completely." Kyouya closed his book and placed it under his arm, looking at the other second year calmly through the round frames of his glasses. "But really, do you want what little time you spend with her to vanish into just a meeting or two a week?"

"..." The Host Club King averted his gaze, looking down at the ground. "I'm surprised..." He began, not looking up. "That _you've_ kept this hidden, and so cleverly. Everyone else I can believe, but for _you_ to want her to stay with us?"

"Heh," The Shadow King smirked slightly, though it went unseen. "I see more benefit in keeping her here in the club, then allowing her to leave it. She brings in customers, she's very entertaining, she's valuable..." Tamaki looked up, and watched as Kyouya looked off to the side, face somewhat apprehensive and appearing as if he was talking partly to himself. "...There would be a great hole in the Club if she was to leave," He blinked and turned his head back to his friend, who still sat with a blank expression. "I, personally, will not bring up the matter of her debt any time soon."

A quiet descended, as they just looked at each other as an understanding passed between them. "She's going to hate us for not telling her."

Kyouya smiled his soft smile again, the one that could hide a murder with the greatest of ease. "Yes, but the profit is worth it." He turned and walked back to the door, but just before he closed it behind him, he called back to his friend, "And if you ever look in my book again, I'll beat you to within an inch of your miserable little life."

Tamaki sighed as the door clicked, leaving him alone once again. He was still for a moment, looking blankly at the racks of past cosplay clothing the office contained, letting the seconds tick by. Without a word, his face still blank, he stood up and made his way to the door. Each step he took, his somber mood lifted. Each step he took, he grew in conviction. Each step he took, he left the secret behind. And when he finally left the room, he was back to his normal charm, and was convinced that this was his best choice—he wasn't lying to her, per say, just wasn't bringing up the fact. And if she stayed with them longer, then she would grow attached to them and not wish to leave once she realizes her debts been cleared off. Yeah, that's it. He smiled over at her where she sat being measured and molested by the twins. Wait... molested?! His poor daughter, he must stop that at once! If anyone, _he_, as her father, had the right to mole--er, _measure_, her!

And thus the secret remained hidden for just a little longer.


End file.
